


Beautiful Disaster

by Starofwinter



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Consent Issues, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Introspection, Self-Esteem Issues, if you know anomaly you know what you're getting into, like so many
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25909144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starofwinter/pseuds/Starofwinter
Summary: He knows who he is.  He chooses this.  At least, that's what he tells himself.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Beautiful Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> The 'consent issues' tag is for a reference to Anomaly hooking up while too drunk to know who he was hooking up _with._

Anomaly aches. He aches like a bar room floor, a back alley, a cold night; like  _ what day is it, _ like  _ does it matter _ , like  _ fuck I need a drink _ like  _ that's what got you here _ . Like a hangover while you're still drunk and curled up in a bunk you don't recognize.

He stares up at the bottom of the bunk overhead. It's not his, his has a scratch on the third slat, and another right above his pillow. There's a dent in the edge. The scratches had been there when he shipped in. The dent was his though, from waking up swinging from a nightmare. Idly, he wonders if whoever this one belongs to is going to come back and expect him to be gone. He should probably work on that; it’s not often he hangs around to figure out who picked him up last night.

His clothes are on the floor, and he's a little grateful for that. Leaving your hookup's bunk the next morning is bad enough, but it's a lot worse when you have to do it in your decant-day suit. He's done it enough times that he's kind of used to it by now. He pulls on the skirt and tank top, but he carries the heels with him when he goes, adding a swing to his hips when he feels the eyes on him. Really, he's not feeling steady enough to wear them, but it's a choice. Always a choice, that's what every authority figure who's ever gotten a good look at him has said - he just chooses to be a beautiful fucking disaster. 

Everyone seems to think that somehow, he's missed what a fucking mess he is, that if he just knew, then he would course-correct and everything would be aces, but that's not the truth. He is, with himself at least, brutally fucking honest. He knows what he's doing, he knows why he's doing it, and he knows exactly how it'll end: in an alley, in a shitty motel, in a bar, in the vast fucking blackness of space, it'll end ugly and beautiful and spectacular and absolutely unremarkable and it'll taste like blood and booze and peace and fucking quiet.

He aches, and the water in the freshers is cold, and so are the eyes on him, and he can't give enough of a fuck to do anything but smile at the blood and glitter washing down the drain.  _ Beautiful fucking disaster _ .


End file.
